


a life sentence (in your arms)

by tattooedsiren



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, domestic feels, professional cuddler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 08:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6650455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattooedsiren/pseuds/tattooedsiren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harvey doesn't know why the following words come out of his mouth. It's the lawyer in him, he supposes, always trying to get to the truth of the matter. And besides, he's been accused of many things over the years, and tact is rarely one of them. "So, are you a prostitute?"<br/>Mike bursts out laughing. "No, no I'm not. But it's a common misconception. I'm a professional cuddler."</p>
            </blockquote>





	a life sentence (in your arms)

**Author's Note:**

> Finally posting this long gestating fic. Hope you guys like it.
> 
> Title comes from Life Sentence by Epicure.
> 
>  
> 
> **ETA: Can't believe I even need to say this, but don't put my fics on goodreads. If I find out this has happened again I'll need to consider locking my fics.**

Harvey wishes he could say he was surprised when the stranger sits on the open bar stool beside him and holds out a hand.

"Hi," he says, smiling. "I'm Mike."

"Harvey," Harvey replies, shaking his hand.

The reason Harvey isn't surprised by Mike joining him is because he's basically been watching him for the last two hours, which sounds a lot creepier than it actually is. It wasn't predatory or anything, it was just curiosity. Because this Mike person has been at the bar for as long as Harvey has, but in that time he has met with three different people, having short but friendly conversations, and Harvey just can't work it out. The meetings appeared friendly, with both parties talking and smiling, and they sat together for about twenty minutes or so before the other person left. Mike had sipped at his drink until the next person arrived, and then the pattern repeated itself.

Harvey didn't get it. The meetings appear to have been organized, yet they are clearly not dates: the conversations seem warm and friendly, but not flirty or sexual. There is some casual touching and that's about it, neither party making a move to take things further. The only other thought that had alighted in Harvey's mind was that Mike was a prostitute, but that doesn't really make sense either. And anyway, he doesn't seem the type.

Harvey hadn't meant to spend the better part of the evening watching a stranger interact with other strangers, but once Mike caught his eye he couldn't seem to stop. Sure, Harvey still chatted with the beautiful people he had come here to meet, but time and again he would find his attention returning to the young man at the opposite end of the U-shaped bar at which they sat. He was intrigued, in a way he so rarely is. He thought he'd been subtle about it, but given that Mike has just walked over here and introduced himself, Harvey guesses he wasn't that good at it.

"Nice to meet you, Harvey," Mike says.

Harvey doesn't know why the following words come out of his mouth. It's the lawyer in him, he supposes, always trying to get to the truth of the matter. And besides, he's been accused of many things over the years, and tact is rarely one of them. "So," he says, after withdrawing his hand from a slightly longer than normal handshake, "are you a prostitute?"

Mike bursts out laughing. "No, no I'm not. But it's a common misconception."

Harvey raises an eyebrow in silent question.

"I'm a professional cuddler."

Harvey doesn't know how his face looks but given Mike's reaction it's probably a visual representation of his thoughts, which are: _what the fuck is a professional cuddler?_

"Yes, it's a real thing," Mike says, laughing. "And I'm damn good at it," he adds with a grin.

Harvey is having trouble processing this. "So … people pay you … to cuddle them?"

Mike nods. "It's a growing market. Research has shown that human touch releases oxytocin, which helps lower blood pressure, stress, and anxiety levels. But most of my clients just enjoy it on the simple level of human contact. We live in a fast paced world, where connecting to other people is difficult. It might not be that hard to find someone to have sex with, but finding someone to hug, to touch in a non-sexual way, now _that_ is difficult. But it's something we all need."

Harvey doesn't really know what to say to that. It sounds like bullshit to be honest. But Mike seems nice enough, and so honestly endearing about it all, that he doesn't have the heart to call him on it.

Mike tells him more about the studies, the so called science of it all, and it sounds interesting but it doesn't sway Harvey's opinion. They chat for a while, somehow managing to digress from professional cuddling to topics as random as the greatest baseball catchers of all time and the latest bill that Congress has passed. They end up talking for over an hour, but Harvey has an early meeting and needs to call it a night.

"Not a problem," Mike says with a smile when Harvey tells him as much. He takes Harvey's hand in his (Mike has given him a few idle touches throughout their conversation, brief touches to Harvey's hand or arm, and the physical nature of the meetings Harvey witnessed now make much more sense) and presses a business card to his palm. "If you ever need someone, give me a call."

Harvey chuckles ruefully, thinking that never in a million years would he call on the service of a _professional cuddler,_ and smiles at Mike in farewell before leaving the bar _._

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Harvey calls Mike two weeks later.

Mike says he's happy that Harvey called - and his voice sounds so warm and genuine that Harvey can't help but believe him - but that he's on his way to an appointment and can't talk. He gets Harvey's email and promises to send him some information by the end of the day, and once he's read it they can go from there.

Even after Harvey has hung up he still doesn’t know what made him call in the first place.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

_Hi Harvey,_

_Thanks so much for your call. I'm glad you decided to give this a try. I don't say this to potential clients a lot, but from the moment I saw you I knew that you needed me. :)_

_Okay, so here is a basic run down of how it works._

_It's $100 for the first hour and then a subsequent $40 for every half hour, paid on the day of our appointment through direct bank transfer or paypal. I'm available for appointments between 9am and 12pm. Most clients like a regular appointment time, but for those who have jobs outside of the standard nine to five (I'm guessing that's you) we can make appointments on a more ad hoc basis. Whatever you prefer._

_The rules are as follows:_

  * _Everyone keeps their clothes on at all times. Bare feet are as naked as we get (and if the session is at your home that's actually the preferred option). This isn't sexual, it's platonic, so there is no need for any nudity._
  * _We can discuss the dos and don'ts before your first appointment - anywhere you don't like to be touched, any boundaries you have etc. If you also have requests of me in terms of clothes or cologne you do/don't want me to wear, let me know and we can discuss options._
  * _The sessions can take place in a hotel room (at the cost of the client) or at the client's home. Public sessions are also an option: walking hand in hand, cuddling while at the cinema/theater etc._
  * _The client and Cuddler must be clean and hygienic (showered, teeth brushed, clean clothes etc)._
  * _Contact is usually in the following forms: hand holding, hugs, snuggling (ie arms around shoulders etc), spooning (nb: any activity taking place on a bed must be on top of the covers), massages (hands, feet, scalp. A back massage with no shirt on may be offered at the discretion of the Cuddler). Anything you would like outside of the standard forms can be discussed but the Cuddler has right of refusal._
  * _If either the client or Cuddler develops romantic feelings for the other then the arrangement needs to be terminated immediately._



_A lot of this information is usually discussed at the "meet and greet" session, where we meet in a public place and discuss all of the above as well as making sure we are compatible on an interpersonal level (because no one wants to cuddle with someone who irritates them). Given our initial meeting I don't think we need to worry about the compatibility part - we can still have a meet and greet to iron out the details or we can go straight to our first session, it's up to you._

_Speaking of, a lot of clients like to ease into the process by having their first session be in public: a walk through Central Park, a trip to the cinema etc. If this is something you want to do then let me know._

_If you have any further questions, you have my email and cell number. Have a think over everything, and I hope to hear from you soon._

_Mike_

*

 

 

 

They meet at a diner, the kind of place The Great Harvey Specter wouldn’t be caught dead in, which was exactly the point.

Mike is already there when he arrives, standing from the table with the blinding smile and open expression that seems to be his default. He greets Harvey with a hug, and doesn’t seem at all perturbed when Harvey doesn’t really return it.

“So, how was your day?” Mike asks as a waitress appears to take their order (they both stick to coffee).

The correct answer is awful: Louis fucked up with a client, again, and his associate was being particularly useless (the man had displayed flare and promise in the interview but since then it’s become clear that that was the exception and not the norm). “My colleagues are useless and my clients are just as bad, so, usual really.”

"So what is it that you do? No, wait-" Mike says before Harvey can answer, "let me guess. Investment banker?"

Harvey chuckles. "Lawyer."

"No way, that's awesome! What type of law? I'm gonna guess corporate."

"What makes you say that?" Harvey asks, curiously.

"The suit you were wearing when we met."

Harvey chuckles. "Yes, I'm a corporate lawyer."

"That's so cool," Mike says, which surprises Harvey. Most people when they hear _corporate lawyer_ immediately jump to the conclusion that Harvey is a slimy shark only interested in keeping the rich guys rich. Which isn't necessarily untrue, but Harvey prefers to look at it like he is acting in the best needs of his clients.

Mike asks him a few questions about his work while they sip their coffee, and Harvey replies as best he can while keeping everything vague enough to protect privilege. Mike seems interested beyond the idle curiosity most people have about lawyers, and Harvey can’t help but wonder if there’s a story there, but decides now is not the time to ask.

“So,” Harvey says during a lull in conversation, “how was your day?”

“It was good, thanks.”

“Were you with a client?”

Mike nods but doesn’t elaborate.

“You’re not going to tell me anything about them, are you?”

Mike shakes his head again.

In all honesty Harvey doesn’t mind. He’s even slightly relieved. Because if he’s going to do this - and he still hasn’t decided for sure - then he needs to know that Mike won’t talk to other people about him. Who knows what it would do to his reputation if this got out. It’d probably be worse than hiring a hooker to be honest.

“I respect that you don’t want to talk about your other clients,” Harvey says honestly, and Mike smiles softly in return. “But can I ask why people hire you?”

“It’s different for everyone. Some people use me as a stepping stone or trial run when they’ve been alone for a long time and are ready to start dating, or have just gotten out of a long relationship and are nervous about dating again. Some people are too busy to maintain personal relationships but miss the intimacy that comes with it. Some people are just lonely. There’s a vast array of reasons why.”

The answer sparks something in Harvey, something that has been tickling at the corner of his mind for days. "In your email," Harvey says, shifting in his seat slightly, "you said that you knew I needed you. Why did you say that?"

"Call it a hunch."

Mike seems content to leave it there, but Harvey isn't. He needs to know. He needs to know what this stranger, who he has known for a grand total of an hour, sees in him that he thinks he needs the services of a _professional cuddler_. So he raises an eyebrow, prompting Mike to go on.

"You strike me as a high flying, fast paced kinda guy. Can't make a connection beyond the kind that exists in the bedroom for an hour or two. You're smart, but kind of an asshole about it, so that isolates you. The kind of person who's scared to commit because once you do you're all in and you, for some reason, don't want that. So you distance yourself and just end up kinda ... lonely."

Harvey can feel a simmering in his blood, a tension in his jaw as this kid's words wash over him. "You don't know anything about me," he grits out, voice firm.

"Am I wrong?" Mike asks simply.

Harvey gets up to leave but Mike is there, stopping him with light fingers around his wrist.

"I'm sorry, that was unprofessional. Please, don't go."

Harvey considers him for a moment, wavering.

"I'm sorry, Harvey. Stay. _Please_."

Mike lets go of Harvey's wrist and slowly sits back down, eyes on Harvey the whole time. Harvey really should just leave; he has no idea why he sits back down opposite Mike.

“How did you get into this line of work?” Harvey asks, because up until he met Mike he had no idea that this was even a thing that people did, and if Mike wants to push the boundaries with him maybe he should push back a little.

Mike chuckles, a little melancholy. “I had this friend - Jenny, my best friend’s girlfriend - who always used to joke that they only kept me around for my awesome hugs. And then one day I read an article in the New England Journal of Medicine about a study in the physical, mental and emotional benefits of human touch. It all kind of snowballed from there.”

Mike tells him about the company he set up (and wasn’t that a surprise - here was Harvey thinking Mike was just an employee, not that he ran the place), the other employees he has, how the business has expanded over the years and that they were the first of their kind and the model other companies have replicated. Harvey dutifully listens along, and Mike seems like an interesting guy, but Harvey’s not sure he can do this.

“Okay look,” he says at last, “this is all pretty fascinating stuff but I’m not sure it’s for me.”

“How about this,” Mike says quickly, sitting up straighter in the booth, “how about a trial run, a mock trial if you will.” Harvey can’t help but grin at that.

“We go to the movies, get some platonic cuddling on, and then see how you feel about it then.”

Harvey should say no. The whole idea is ridiculous. And yet he’s here, something in him has pushed him to this point, so maybe he should give it a go. He can do this thing once - because he’ll try anything once, and has - and then he’ll know for sure.

“Okay.”

Harvey settles the bill and they head out of the diner. It’s only five blocks to the nearest cinema, so they start walking, and a few steps later Mike laces their fingers together. Harvey looks over at him and Mike grins, saying, “Opening arguments.” Harvey can’t be held responsible for the bark of laughter that follows it.

“So, why did you want to be a lawyer?”

"Because I like to win," Harvey answers easily. "Always have."

"In all things?"

"Of course. Otherwise what's the point?"

"If there's one thing life has taught me is that sometimes it's better to do the right thing than just to win."

So the professional cuddler is one of those _there are more important things than winning_ types. Shocker. "You know, it _is_ possible to do the right thing _and_ win."

"Possible, but not likely."

"I guess you'd just have to trust that I can do both."

Mike hums thoughtfully. "I guess so."

When they make it to the cinema Harvey asks Mike what he wants to see and Mike shrugs, says, "Client's choice."

"I'm not a client yet," Harvey points out.

Mike chuckles. "Good point. Excellent loophole. Alright, there is nothing I'm desperate to see. How about you?" When Harvey shakes his head Mike says, "So how about we just see whatever is playing next."

Sounds like a good a plan as any to Harvey. He loves his movies, true, but this isn't about what's playing on screen, it's about how he and Mike are going to watch it. The next film turns out to be the indie movie of the moment, and they buy their tickets, skipping the candy bar and heading straight into the cinema.

"I'm actually glad we're seeing this one," Mike says as they sit down, resting his hand on Harvey's thigh nonchalantly. "I've been a fan of the main actor for a long time. I'm so happy for them that they are finally getting some recognition."

"Yeah?" Harvey says, which granted isn't his most eloquent reply but if he's honest with himself (and he's always honest with himself, even if he isn't honest with everyone else) he can't come up with anything more specific because he's kinda distracted by the weight of Mike's hand.

"Yeah, they were in this Jane Austen movie like fifteen years ago - don't judge me those books are classics, man - and he was just one of those people I couldn't take my eyes off, you know?"

They talk about their favorite actors and movies - Mike earns Harvey's respect by being able to quote Mississippi Burning - until the previews finally start. At which point they shut the hell up because they are not heathens and they don't want to miss one of the best things about going to the movies.

Once the movie starts up Mike moves his hand from Harvey's thigh and puts an arm over his shoulder. It's been so long since someone pulled that move that Harvey's surprised it didn't come with a fake yawn first. But with the arm rest between them it's not terribly comfortable, so after a few minutes Harvey grabs Mike's hand and removes his arm, but he keeps their hands tangled in his lap. He then pointedly ignores the grin on Mike's face.

So there he is, Harvey Specter, thirty-nine years old and the best damn closer in the city, sitting in a cinema and holding hands with someone like he's a fucking teenager on his first date.

He can admit that there is _something_ about it, a quiet niceness, an innocence that Harvey normally has no interest in but can't deny feels good. It's easy. Because he's not trying to impress or charm, he's not wondering where this is leading because he already knows: it's going nowhere.

The movie is enjoyable, and as they exit the theatre they talk about the so-called twist at the end that both of them saw coming a mile away. They're still talking when they get out to the sidewalk, so they find a spot out of the way to finish the conversation.

"So," Mike says, after they have suitably analyzed the film, "what's the verdict?"

He isn't talking about the movie anymore.

Harvey just shakes his head. It was too weird, too surreal, and Harvey still isn't convinced it's for him. He thinks he sees a flicker of disappointment before Mike's face goes neutral and he puts out his hand. Harvey shakes it.

"No harm, no foul," Mike says, smiling easily. "Take care, Harvey."

And then Mike turns and walks away.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Harvey is content to go on with his life. So he does, dominating in the courtroom (well, at least he would be if his cases ever made it that far, but he's so good they almost never do), getting his favorite car three times in one week from the car club, meeting a vast array of charming and beautiful people...

He tries to pretend like Mike hasn't gotten under his skin.

The men and women that Harvey hook up with are great, they’re smart and funny and hot and great in bed, and he has no intention of stopping that. But that's all it is. Hooking up. Sex. It's not about intimacy, and Harvey doesn't want it to be, not with them. But sometimes when he's eating dinner alone in his apartment or lying in bed at night trying to get to sleep he'll wish he had the warm presence of someone beside him.

He blames Mike.

He'd been perfectly happy with this arrangement until now. But ever since Mike's piercing analysis of his personality and the time they spent together it was like a constant niggle in the back of his mind. Maybe it would be nice to have that kind of contact with someone. Maybe it would help him get over his intimacy issues (because he can admit, if only to himself, that he _does_ have them) and have an actual relationship.

He can rationalize it if he wants to. The reason he was uncertain during their "trial" was because it was out in public. The speculative glances of strangers and the stress of potentially bumping into someone he knew tainted the experience. If they did this at Harvey's apartment and away from prying eyes, if he made the payments from the one account that even Donna didn't know about, if he kept this as something secret for himself, a way to work up to something real, then maybe it could work.

He vacillates on the subject for weeks, never quite getting around to making the call. And then one night, he staggers home slightly tipsy and completely alone, having struck out with a gorgeous bartender (an _extremely_ rare occurrence, but it did happen) whose smile reminded him of Mike, and in a moment of weakness (or clarity, depending on how generous you were feeling) Harvey calls Mike.

There's no answer, he's probably with a client (or sleeping, Harvey realizes as he glances at his watch). He almost hangs up when it goes to voicemail, but then he hears the beep and he finds himself saying, "Hey, Mike. It's Harvey here. I think I'd like to appeal the original verdict, if you're still willing to take me on as a client. Call me."

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Harvey opens the door and Mike is smiling at him.

"I can honestly say I never thought I'd hear from you again," Mike says in lieu of a greeting.

Harvey lets out a light chuckle. "Yeah, me neither."

"But I'm really glad you called."

Harvey smiles, stepping back and waving an arm in silent invitation. Mike slowly walks in, eyes roaming across the apartment curiously. "Nice place," he says, stopping in front of the window to admire the view.

"Did you wanna go out?" Harvey asks, tipping his head towards the balcony.

"Really?" Mike asks enthusiastically.

"Of course. Would you like a drink?"

"Just a water would be great."

Harvey nods. "Head on out, I'll be there in a second."

Mike heads out onto the balcony while Harvey putters around the kitchen, getting them both a drink. When he steps out onto the balcony he can't help but note that Mike is standing in his favorite spot. He's leaning on the balustrade as he gazes out at the view, and Harvey joins him, holding out the drink. Mike takes it with a smile, and when he returns to the view he's moved closer, so the length of his arm is pressed into Harvey's.

Harvey doesn't mind.

"Okay, so anything I need to know before we get started?" Off Harvey's quizzical look, Mike adds, "Anywhere on your body you don't particularly like to be touched? Anything you're not comfortable with us doing? Anywhere in your apartment I need to stay out of? That kind of thing."

"No, nothing comes to mind."

Mike nods. "I won't ask again, but it's an open question. If you change your mind, or if I do something that makes you uncomfortable, please let me know."

Harvey thinks that it's pretty unlikely, but he nods anyway. At any rate, Mike looks relieved by the action.

"So, let's talk scheduling. Did you want to make a standing appointment or just book the next one at the end of each session?"

"Standing appointment," Harvey says. Because if he's going to do this then he's going to commit to it. "Is this a good time for you?"

It's a Tuesday evening. Harvey figured it would be the safest day; any weeknight is prone to work related interruptions, but he's found that on average Tuesday's were more quiet, and the weekends are still reserved for social pleasures.

Mike nods. "Consider nine til midnight yours until further notice."

They lapse into silence, but it's not uncomfortable. Harvey takes a little time to enjoy the view. It's been a while since he's just stood here and looked out onto the city he calls home. He's struck by how different and yet how similar it looks to last time.

"Harvey," Mike says, his voice tentative. "Are you _sure_ you want to do this?"

Harvey doesn't blame Mike for asking. He's been so off and on about the whole thing, Mike probably just wants to make sure he isn't giving up three hours of his schedule to someone who has such commitment issues that they could just end up cancelling each appointment at the last minute.

"Yes," he says, tries to make his voice definite but gentle. "I'm sure."

"Okay," Mike says with a slowly widening smile. "Let's get started."

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Harvey flips through the channels on the TV, spending no longer than a few seconds on each one. He does this for several minutes, going through hundreds of channels, while Mike sits there silently beside him, arm linked through Harvey's so that their fingers are tangled together while Mike's other hand slides lightly up and down Harvey's bare forearm.

"There is officially nothing on."

"Not sure the rest of America would agree with you there," Mike says, grinning.

"Wanna watch a movie?" Harvey asks, tossing the remote aside.

"Sure."

"You can choose. And before you give me that client's choice crap again-" Mike makes a shocked and offended face that is too exaggerated to be real, making Harvey grin, "- everything I have I can watch at any time, so you can choose something that you want to watch."

Mike sighs deeply, but gives himself away with a smile. "Fine," he grumbles, untangling himself from Harvey and heading over to the DVD collection. As he passes it he notices some DVDs and Blu-rays on the entertainment unit so stops to look at them, picking up _The Thin Red Line_.

"I love this movie," Mike says, flipping the cover to look at the back.

"Malick is a genius. I have his entire oeuvre on Blu-ray."

"Okay, first of all, _oeuvre_? Really? And second of all, that collection would probably be more impressive if he'd made more than six films in forty years."

Mike heads over to the DVD collection, and seems to be looking for something in particular. This becomes evident when he pulls out _The New World_. He holds it up for Harvey's approval, which he gives with a nod, standing to take the Blu-ray from Mike's hands.

"For the record, I hated _The Tree of Life,_ " Mike says, as he falls back onto the couch.

"Fair enough," Harvey says as puts the disc into the player. He collapses on the couch beside Mike, and once he's gone through the process to get the movie started he admits, "It wasn't my favorite. Brad Pitt's face went a long way to making it palatable."

"You're a Brad Pitt fan?" Mike asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Aren't you?" Harvey counters with a matching eyebrow.

Mike shrugs. "I've never understood the obsession. He's an okay actor and all, but I don't know, I think he's just overrated. He's really not that good looking. Give me Christian Bale or Colin Farrell any day," he adds, waving to the screen.

They manage to veer the topic away from the aesthetics of Hollywood's leading men fairly quickly. When Q'orianka Kilcher comes on screen Mike mentions that she was his dream cast for Katniss in the Hunger Games. Harvey of course can't help but tease Mike about reading books for teenagers, at which point Mike insists on defending them in a monologue speech that Harvey only half follows, too amused by the vehemence Mike is displaying. He rants about how mass media too easily focuses on the love triangle when any thinking person can tell you that's really not the point of the books. He tells Harvey that the books are deep and disturbing and basically doesn't shut up for five minutes straight.

And when Mike has finally run out of steam Harvey grins and says, "Tell me how you really feel."

Mike lets out a rueful chuckle and presses even closer to Harvey (how Mike manages that, given that Mike was already right next to Harvey with his hand on Harvey's thigh and his foot hooked around Harvey's ankle, Harvey has no idea). "Sorry about that. I swear I'm not normally this chatty or pushy during a first session."

"It's fine," Harvey says, because it is, because he'd been worried that they were going to spend three hours pressed together in uncomfortable silence, and this, this is anything but uncomfortable.

They turn their attention back to the television, watching in silence for a few minutes. That silence is then broken by Mike asking, "So what are you reading at the moment?"

"At the moment, nothing. But I just finished Shopgirl. It's a novella by-"

"Steve Martin, yeah, I read it years ago."

"I think I wanted to like it more than I actually did. Steve Martin in the man, and the nicest guy you'll ever meet, but I just couldn't really get into the story and the characters as much as I should've."

After a beat Mike deadpans, "You know Steve Martin."

Harvey shrugs. "We've met a few times."

"Who are you?" Mike breathes, low and wondrous, and Harvey just smiles as they lapse back into silence.

On the screen light filters through trees, beautiful in its simplicity, and Mike says, “Okay so tell me which other famous people you know.”

That's pretty much how the rest of the evening goes. They'll watch the movie in silence for a moment, someone will make a comment which will spark a new conversation, and when that reaches its natural conclusion they lapse back into silence, ready for the cycle to start anew. The three hours fly by, and before Harvey knows it midnight arrives and Mike takes his leave, hugging Harvey warmly and saying, "See you next week."

So, Professional Cuddling. It wasn't terrible.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

For their second session, once the movie is cued up (today it's _The Godfather_ ), Mike, who is still standing in the middle of the lounge, directs Harvey to lie down on the couch. When Harvey raises an eyebrow at him Mike just smiles and says, "Trust me, Harvey. This is what you pay me for, remember?"

So Harvey lies down on the couch, slightly apprehensive but more curious as to where this is going. He laces his hands on his stomach and when he finally looks back up to Mike it's to find him looking at Harvey with a soft expression on his face. He steps closer and lightly cups a hand over Harvey's forehead, his voice soft when he says, "Relax."

Harvey briefly closes his eyes as he lets out a deep breath. He tries to let his muscles go loose as he takes a few measured breaths. He's so focused on trying to relax that he feels a jolt of surprise as Mike picks up his feet, eyes flying open in shock. Mike just smiles at him and sits down, relaxing back into the couch, Harvey's feet now in his lap.

Mike presses his thumb in small circles into the arch of Harvey's foot a few times, lightly massaging, before turning to Harvey and asking in a low voice, "Okay?"

Harvey nods, because he doesn't trust his voice right now. Truth is, it feels amazing, relaxing and intimate, and it took a while but he finally gets why Mike's business is so successful (he may or may not have googled them after he came home from their trial session), why people pay good money for this.

They watch the movie that way, Harvey's feet in his lap, Mike's hands alternating from resting on his ankle, to circling his thumb around the anklebone, to running fingers lightly up and down the arch of his foot (Harvey is thankful that he's not ticklish). And just like last week, they end up talking through half the movie.

Harvey senses a pattern emerging.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Mike's stomach rumbles. Harvey knows this because he can hear it. He can hear it because at the moment his head is in Mike's lap, Mike sliding his fingers through his hair in a soothing motion.

(Which is amazing and indescribably relaxing and Harvey hasn't felt so loose-limbed in years.)

"Hungry?" Harvey asks with a chuckle.

Mike's fingers stop moving. "I'm fine."

That's a lie. Harvey is in the business of reading between the lines, and the words might've said he was fine but the hands gave everything away. Harvey sits up and levels Mike with a look. "Mike?"

"Okay," Mike admits, "maybe a little."

"Did you eat dinner?"

"What're you, my mom?" Mike jokes, but Harvey is unmoved. Mike lets out a sigh. "The client I have before you lives in Queens and I don't have time to stop and eat if I'm gonna make it here on time."

"What do you want to eat?" Harvey asks, reaching for his cell on the coffee table.

"No, Harvey," Mike says, fingers wrapping around Harvey's wrist. "It's fine."

"So, pizza then?" Harvey says, not taking no for an answer.

Mike looks at Harvey for a moment, and Harvey keeps his level stare, makes sure Mike realizes that he's not backing down. He's not going to let Mike starve on his watch. Mike squeezes his wrist before letting go. "Yeah, pizza is fine."

Harvey dials the number of his favorite place, five blocks away. The phone is still ringing when Mike asks brightly, "Can we get cheese in the crust?"

"Not on your life."

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Harvey looks through the thin and stained menu, wondering what Mike would like. He could ask of course, but that would defeat the purpose. He can tell Mike is going to be stubborn about this, so he's not giving him the option to say no. Instead Harvey just picks his favorite items and a couple of safe options, calling his favorite Chinese place and getting them to deliver.

The boxes are still steaming when Mike arrives. He greets Harvey with the customary hug before walking into the apartment, stopping when he gets to the dining table and turning to Harvey with a curious expression. "What's all this?"

"Dinner," Harvey says, getting bowls and cutlery from the kitchen. "Would you like a drink?"

"You did this for me?" Mike asks, his voice low in surprised wonder as he steps closer to the table.

He says it like Harvey is the first person to ever give him a kind gesture, like Harvey is the only one to ever consider Mike's needs. Which is ridiculous. Mike is in the business of caring for others, it's true, but he's kind and personable - surely he has people in his life, friends or family, who would do something for him? But Mike's reaction has Harvey questioning everything he thought he knew about Mike.

"Yes," Harvey says, and just for a moment Mike's eyes widen imperceptibly, like he's nervous, so to put him at ease Harvey adds, "Well, for me too. I haven't eaten yet either, so I figured, why not eat together?"

Harvey brings the bowls, cutlery and empty drinking glasses over to the table. He presses a hand to the small of Mike's back and gently urges him closer to the table. "Go on, dig in. What would you like to drink?"

"Just water. Thanks."

Harvey grabs a bottle of water as Mike slowly sits down. Harvey pours the liquid into the glasses, putting one in front of Mike before easing into his chair. Mike still hasn't started eating, so Harvey decides to lead by example, grabbing the nearest box and pouring some of the contents into a bowl and starting to eat.

"You shouldn't pay me for this," Mike blurts.

Harvey is too distracted by Mike finally picking up one of the boxes and scooping some of the contents into the bowl that it takes a moment to react. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You shouldn't pay me for this half hour. It's not fair to pay me when you aren't getting maximum cuddle time."

"Really?" Harvey deadpans. " _Maximum cuddle time_? What're you, five?"

"Well what would you call it?" Mike challenges.

Harvey thinks about it as he eats a mouthful of fried rice. "Close proximity time?"

"Ugh, lame," Mike says, trying for serious but he ends up smiling in the end.

Harvey returns the smile before sobering. "But seriously. I'm the client, right? Don't I get to decide what to do?"

"Yeah..." Mike says, dragging the word out slowly, like he's not really sure what he's agreeing to and he's reserving the right to rebuttal.

"Well then I've decided that our sessions are going to start with a meal. On my dime."

He doesn’t know why he's pushing this so hard. He could just give in to Mike and not pay him for this time. He could even tell Mike to start their session half an hour later so he could get time to eat on his own before he arrives. But he wants _this_ ; he wants Mike here with him for as long as he can.

Mike eats a few mouthfuls in silence, but he has a thoughtful look on his face. Harvey thinks that Mike's figuring out a way to win the argument, and when Mike finally opens his mouth Harvey discovers that he wasn't entirely wrong.

"Counteroffer," Mike says, and already Harvey is smiling. He briefly wonders if their entire relationship will consist of legal jargon. "If you wanna pay me for the full three hours still, then I'll pay for dinner."

As compromises go, it's not a bad one. And, more to the point, it's rare in that it's one that Harvey will happily accept. He places his hand on Mike's forearm and squeezes. "Deal."

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

On the next Tuesday, at about 4pm, Harvey receives a text from Mike.

_What do you feel like for dinner tonight?_

Harvey smiles as he types a reply. _Could go for either Thai or Japanese..._

He puts the phone aside but mere seconds later he gets a reply so has to pick it up again.

_Could your choices possibly be any more pretentious?_

_Yes, I could've suggested_ _Peruvian_ _or_ _Ethiopian_ _._

Which Harvey never would, because that shit is awful. But it's fun to tease Mike with it.

_Ugh, rich people. Why don't you slum it with me for once?_

_I would, but I'm yet to hear any suggestions from you about what to eat._

_Burger and fries?_

_Okay._

_That's it? Huh, that was easy, thought you woulda fought me more on this._

Harvey chuckles at that. _Then you clearly don't know how much I enjoy a good burger._

_Clearly._

Harvey looks at this phone for a few more moments, wondering if Mike will send anything else, but it's radio silence. So Harvey sends him another message: _Just get me anything as long as it doesn't have onion on it. See you tonight._

There's no immediate reply, so Harvey puts the phone aside and goes back to his laptop. Several minutes pass in silence, the only sound the tap tap tap of his hands dancing along the keyboard as he writes up a contract for his client, until finally his phone beeps with one last message from Mike.

_Looking forward to it._

It's stupid, the warmth that floods through him at that, but he can't help it. Feelings, like clients who lie to him and let the truth come out at the most inopportune time, are a fact of life. Not something he would choose but something that's bound to happen sooner or later. He just has to acknowledge it and try and fix it.

He likes Mike, is the thing. It's been a long time since he's connected to someone on a personal level in any kind of substantial way. It's something beyond the physical he's had with his one night stands, beyond the work connections he has with people like Jessica and Donna. This thing he has with Mike - this relationship or arrangement or whatever you want to call it - is something that's just for him.

"Okay, are you ever going to tell me?" Donna asks, pulling Harvey from his reverie.

He puts the phone down, shifts in his seat as he glares up at her where she's standing in the middle of his office. "What are you talking about?"

"Whatever it is that has you smiling at your phone like that. Whatever it is you do on your Tuesday nights that is in no way work related."

Harvey's beyond glad that Donna is asking. Not because he wants her butting into his personal life, but because if she's asking then it means she hasn't figured it out for herself yet. Their secret is still just that.

"No," he tells her simply. "I'm never going to tell you."

Donna just looks at him for a moment, like she's trying to work out if he's lying, or maybe like she's trying to find an answer in that statement. Whatever she's looking for she gives up after a moment, nodding her head crisply. "Okay, fine, be that way. But whatever it is, keep doing it. Happy looks good on you."

And with that, she leaves him be, and Harvey goes back to work, glancing at the clock every few minutes until he's able to go home.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

"This is so good," Mike moans around a mouth of food. Harvey doesn't think about what else that noise sounds like.

Harvey grins. "See, told you so," he gloats.

"Yeah yeah, you are a genius know-it-all, now shut up and let me eat my tempura."

Harvey chuckles, putting another piece of shrimp in his mouth. "So, how was your week?"

It's a question Harvey always asks over dinner. Even though Mike never tells him about his other clients (which doesn't bother Harvey at all) he'll tell Harvey about the random people he saw on the subway or the awesome breakfast burrito he had that morning or the TV show he's currently obsessing over, whatever it is that comes to mind.

"It was great. A client fired me," he says happily.

"And that's a good thing?"

"Absolutely. It means they are ready to go out there and start forming relationships on their own. It means I did my job properly."

"Well, in that case, I'm happy for you."

"What about you? How was your week?"

"Well..." Harvey thinks about it for a moment. He can't tell Mike a lot of what he does all day - even though he may have tiptoed over that line once or twice - and apart from work he doesn’t really have a lot else going on. "I won a Kobayashi Maru case."

"A what now?"

Harvey puts his fork down. "You've never heard of Kobayashi Maru?"

"Isn't that the competitive eater guy?"

Harvey practically splutters with indignation, but it only lasts a few seconds before Mike bursts out laughing.

"I'm just messing with you, man. I know that Takeru Kobayashi is the competitive eater and that Kobayashi Maru is something Star Trek related."

"There's actually a competitive eater called Takeru Kobayashi. How the hell do you know that?"

Mike chuckles. "It's amazing what you can stumble onto when watching daytime TV. But back to the point. What's a Kobayashi Maru?"

"A no-win situation. You need to rewrite the rules to win."

"Isn't that like cheating?" When Harvey raises his eyebrows Mike hastily adds, "Hey, no judgement or anything. It's just, that's kind of what it sounds like, and I didn't think you were the cheating, underhanded type."

Harvey tries to ignore that warm feeling in his stomach at Mike's faith in him and when that doesn't work he blames it on the delicious food. "I'm not. I didn't cheat. Just worked out how to change the situation so it could be won."

Mike nods, looking thoughtful at him. "Sounds like that's something that could be a big deal."

Harvey shrugs. "I guess so. But I think at this point the more pressing concern is how do you not know what a Kobayashi Maru is?"

Mike shrugs. "I've never actually seen Star Trek."

Harvey drops his fork on the table and glares at Mike, who outright laughs at him.

"Okay, finish your dinner, we need to get you educated on the finer things in life."

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Harvey thinks he should be disturbed by how easily Mike slots into his routine, how simply he becomes a part of Harvey's life. He doesn't even think about it anymore: boxing is on Wednesday, brunch is on Sunday, close proximity time with Mike is on Tuesday...

Before he knows it they've been doing this for nearly four months. There's a certain rhythm to how things go: Mike texts him earlier in the day, they argue good-naturedly over several text messages about what to have for dinner, Mike turns up on his doorstep with bags of food, they eat and talk for a bit before moving to the couch for more talking and cuddling as they steadily work their way through all the Star Trek movies (including the awful reboot ones, which Harvey happily would've skipped but Mike wanted to watch them because he apparently has a thing for Karl Urban and Harvey can't help but indulge him).

They talk a lot, not about Mike's clients, or Harvey's for that matter. In fact, for all that they spend three hours a week wrapped up in each other Harvey still knows nothing about Mike's personal life - if he has any family, friends, if he's in a relationship or not, where he lives... And yet Harvey still feels like he knows Mike, because he knows that he's super intelligent and remembers everything he's told, he loves biking and hates Indian food and thinks that corn chips without salsa aren't really corn chips, and he soaks up every inane word Harvey says like it's somehow important.

Harvey enjoys his time with Mike, spends most of the week looking forward to it, and he ignores the fact that he hasn't gone out looking for a beautiful stranger to spend the night with in months.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Their sessions are much of a muchness, which suits Harvey just fine. He likes the stability. His work can be insane, frantic and tense, and he thrives on that. But that's work. He doesn't want that for his personal life, not anymore, and he likes knowing that he's going to get three hours of utter peace, a break from the world when all he has to worry about is what they should have for dinner or what movie they should watch.

He's feeling distracted today, though. He's missing his dad something fierce: blame it on his current case, where his client is suing a current top 40 darling for copyright infringement because their song sounds awfully similar to his client's top 10 hit from three decades ago.

It's been six years now and he still feels the absence of his father like a hole in his soul. He can compartmentalize most of the time, but on days like today, he aches with it. So when he gets home he hooks up his iPhone and selects his Gordon playlist: his dad had released two relatively successful solo albums, and the playlist is a combination of those albums and all the songs his dad played on, for people like John Coltrane, Herbie Hancock, Miles Davis, and McCoy Tyner. He sits on the couch and just lets the music wash over him for a while.

When Mike arrives ten minutes later he greets Harvey with a hug and bags of hot Thai food. He heads over to the kitchen, putting the bag on the counter before going to the cupboard and pulling out some bowls and glasses. They move easily around the kitchen as they dish up dinner, Harvey asking Mike how his week was and Mike immediately launching into a tirade about his neighbor.

It takes several minutes for Mike to draw breath, Harvey just sitting next to him at the table and listening to Mike rant. Harvey doesn't mind. He's always happy to hear about Mike's life, and he's not feeling terribly exuberant today, so he's fine just sitting back and letting Mike talk. When Mike finally does stop it's mid-sentence, his face contorting in confusion for a fleeting moment before he looks intently at Harvey but asks in a gentle and concerned voice, "Are you okay?"

Harvey nods. "Fine."

Mike looks at him like he doesn't believe him.

"Just a bit of a weird week," Harvey admits.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Harvey's torn. He doesn't really know what there is to say, but he can't deny there is an appeal in talking to Mike about this. Of being able to admit to someone how much he misses his dad, how missing his dad reminds him of how empty his life is with just a mother he refuses to talk to and a brother he loves but lives a world away.

In the end he just shakes his head, because that's easier than finding the right words. Mike just keeps staring at him, like he's trying to make sure that Harvey is certain, and after a few moments he nods, reaching over and lightly squeezing Harvey's fingers.

They go back to eating, but whatever the end to Mike's story is Harvey never finds out. They sit there silently, but it's not uncomfortable. As much as they talk, and they do, a lot, they also have long stretches of silence that feel as natural as breathing.

"Who's this?" Mike asks, several minutes later, pointing in the vague direction of the stereo system.

"Do you like it?" Harvey returns, because if Mike's reply to this question has even a hint of a negative connotation then not only will he not answer the question, he might have to rethink this whole arrangement.

"Yeah. I mean, I'll admit that it's not the type of music I normally listen to, but I like it a lot."

Harvey smiles softly. "It's my dad."

Harvey can literally see Mike's jaw drop. "You're kidding? That's amazing." Mike pauses for a moment, listening to the music. "He's so good."

"He really was."

The past tense catches Mike's attention, and he lets out a soft, "Oh." At Harvey's subtle nod Mike gently asks, "When?"

"It's been years now," Harvey tells him, because he doesn't want Mike to worry about dealing with someone with fresh grief. "But I've just been thinking a lot about him this week."

"In my experience it doesn't matter how long passes. Every once in a while something will happen that sends you back to feeling like you did when it happened."

"Sounds like you have some experience in the matter," Harvey says, and he realizes too late that this is crossing the line into Mike's personal life. As such, he half expects Mike to just nod or shake his head as appropriate and move on. Which is why he is especially surprised by Mike's reply.

"I lost both my parents when I was eleven, and my Grammy, the woman who raised me, passed away two years ago. So, yeah, I get it. You can live your life, but you'll never stop missing them."

Harvey doesn't reply to that. What could he possibly say? Harvey knows from experience that there are no words of sympathy that ever bring comfort to him, and Mike has lost so much more than he has. He knows that whatever he could say Mike will have heard before or be uninterested in. So he just shares a sad smile with Mike, sliding his hand across under the table and squeezing his thigh, and he leaves his hand there and continues to eat with one hand.

The rest of the meal is eaten quickly, quiet but for the sounds of Gordon's music floating in the air. When Mike pushes the bowl aside, a clear sign that he's done, Harvey does the same.

"So, I have a new idea for tonight," Mike says tentatively.

It's that same uncertainty that causes Harvey's heart to beat hard in his chest. At least, that's what he tells himself. "Yeah, what's that?"

Mike stands and holds out his hand. Harvey glances down to it and then back up at Mike.

"Do you trust me?" Mike asks, and the words are so simple for what is a serious question.

But the thing is, Harvey does trust him. It probably doesn't sound that surprising, given that he invites Mike into his home and personal space on a regular basis, but it means a great deal to Harvey. He trusts so few people - either because he can't or won't - but Mike, Mike he trusts implicitly. So instead of answering he puts his hand in Mike's and lets himself be pulled to his feet.

Mike leads him not over to the couch but to an empty area in the lounge, near the windows that look out onto the city. It has started to rain, water sluicing down the clear panes. Mike holds up his right hand, waits for Harvey to put his left hand in it before he steps forward, winding his other arm around Harvey's shoulders, pressing them together. And then, he starts moving.

It doesn't take long for Harvey to catch on. He wraps his other arm around Mike's waist and sways with him. Mike smiles at him, wide and unabashed, before inching forward so they are pressed cheek to cheek.

"Well, this is a first," Harvey admits with a low chuckle. And it's in no way a lie. He has never once slow danced in his lounge to his dad's music, or even any other combination of the above.

"Do you wanna stop? Mike asks, and he stops moving anyway.

"No," Harvey says, taking the lead.

He's not looking at Mike but he can practically feel Mike smile in return. Harvey takes their clasped hands and holds them to his chest. Mike seems to take that as some kind of invitation, pressing their bodies that much closer, and they sway together, wrapped up in each other.

"Is this something you do with all your clients?" Harvey asks, mouth pressed to Mike's ear, voice light with mirth.

It takes a while for Mike to reply. "No. This is a first for me too."

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Harvey is exhausted.

The briefcase in his hand feels like it weighs a ton and even for the relatively short elevator ride up to his floor he feels like the only thing keeping him upright is the wall he is pressing against. He's yawning when the doors slide open, rubbing tiredly at his face as he walks into the hallway.

"Harvey," a voice says, and Harvey drops his hand to see Mike sitting on the floor outside his apartment. There is a bag of food beside him and he looks worried, leg bouncing up and down, a fact that is immediately confirmed when Mike stands and asks in a rush, "Are you okay?"

Harvey feels slightly disoriented. He glances down at his watch - 10.37pm - and he realizes that he's lost all sense of time and day and Mike's been waiting for him for an hour and a half.

"Fuck," Harvey groans, once again rubbing at his face tiredly. "Mike, I'm so sorry, I lost track of time."

"I tried calling you but there was no answer," Mike tells him, voice wavering slightly.

Mike looks slightly shaken, and he realizes that Mike was genuinely worried about him. He feels like an asshole. He goes to his apartment door and slides the key into the lock while Mike bends to grab the presumably now cold food.

"I've been working nineteen hours a day for the last five days," Harvey explains as he lets them both in, "and I got called into a meeting and completely forgot about our appointment. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Mike says gently, depositing the bag onto the kitchen bench. "Did you want me to go?"

"No," Harvey replies in an instant. He barely remembers his own name, but he knows he doesn't want Mike to go. "Can we...?" and he tilts his head in the direction of the bedroom, a room Mike hasn't been into since that first day when Harvey gave him a quick tour of the apartment. For some reason which Harvey never quite figured out he's wanted to keep their interactions in the neutral zone of the lounge, but right now he wants - needs - something different.

Harvey doesn't even wait for Mike to agree, just turns and heads to his bedroom, collapsing face first onto the mattress. He hears Mike's chuckle from somewhere nearby, so Mike must've been happy to follow him in here. This is confirmed when he feels a dip in the mattress beside him as Mike sits on the foot of the bed.

Then his shoes are magically gone.

Harvey feels Mike gripping his bicep, and getting the message he rolls over onto his back. Mike's there, sitting back on his heels in the middle of Harvey's bed, and Harvey smiles loopily up at Mike as he undoes his tie and then moves his hands to the buttons on Harvey's shirt.

"Up," Mike says gently when his task is complete, and Harvey somehow finds the energy to sit.

Mike gently removes his shirt, leaving Harvey in his undershirt and pants. Mike slides off the bed with the material, but what he does with it Harvey has no idea because he just crawls up the bed, once again collapsing face first, but at least this time his pillow is there to cushion the blow.

He feels like he could sleep for a week, even though tomorrow is going to be much of the same. He just needs to get a few hours of shut eye before dragging himself back into the office tomorrow. He has a plan at least, finally, and if all goes well tomorrow, this nightmare could be over within twenty-four hours.

It's a surprise when Mike drapes himself diagonally across Harvey's back. He can feel Mike's chest pressing into his back, his cheek resting on his shoulder blade, a hand cupping the back of his head. Mike’s fingers immediately start massaging his scalp.

"Is this okay?" Mike asks softly, and Harvey can feel his breath tickle his ear.

"Mmmm," is the only reply he's coherent enough to make. He can feel Mike chuckle through the reverberations of their bodies but Mike remains silent, just keeps moving his hand.

It's so easy to drift away like this, even though part of him wants to fight it because it feels so good and he doesn't want to miss out on any of it. Mike moves his hand, lightly trailing his fingers over Harvey's temple, and Harvey is done.

He wakes in the morning, rested and alone, with the ghost of a memory of something that couldn't possibly have happened: a light kiss pressed to the back of his neck.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

It's been four days since Harvey woke up alone, Mike presumably having slipped out at his midnight deadline (although truth be told he could've left a minute after Harvey fell asleep and he'd be none the wiser, however, Harvey just has this weird faith that Mike stayed until midnight anyway). Work has continued to be hell, but by Saturday the case is finally done and Harvey feels like he can breathe again.

He sleeps in, has a lazy breakfast, heads out into the city to do some long overdue errands, and goes for a run in Central Park. It's mid afternoon and he's just out of the shower when his phone rings. He's surprised, but happily so, when he looks at the caller ID to see Mike's name.

"Mike," he says, smiling around the word.

"Hey, Harvey," Mike says, and his voice is low and tremulous and something is wrong.

"What's wrong?" Harvey asks quickly, standing straighter and readying to go into battle.

"I'm sorry to call you but..."

"What?"

"Are you at home? Do you mind if I come over?"

"Of course, come over, I'll be here."

"Thanks, Harvey," Mike says, before hanging up the phone.

Harvey spends the next thirty minutes waiting and worrying. His mind conjures horrible scenarios about what's wrong, and no matter how hard he tries to stop the images keep coming. He gets more worked up the longer he waits, so it's a relief when there is finally a knock on his door.

When he opens the door there is a quick wave of relief like nothing he's ever felt, seeing Mike whole and unmarred before him. There doesn't appear to be anything physically amiss, no blood or bruises, but still, something is clearly wrong. So Harvey steps forward and hugs Mike, right there in the doorway, Harvey initiating one of their hugs for possibly the first time. Mike clings to him desperately, gripping at the material of his t-shirt on his lower back.

"Are you alright?" Harvey asks, cupping his hand around Mike's neck.

He can feel Mike nod, and then Mike drops his arms and steps out of his embrace, walking into the apartment. Harvey closes the door and follows, heads straight to the kitchen to get Mike a drink.

"Water? Or something stronger?"

"Something stronger, I think," Mike says.

Harvey pours Mike a scotch, pressing the glass into his hand and watching as Mike takes a sip, letting out a shaky breath afterwards.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Harvey asks.

Mike nods, but takes another sip first. He puts the drink down on the kitchen counter and finally looks up at Harvey.

"I had a session with a client today, our first one. He ... he got a bit ... rough with me-"

"Did he hurt you?" Harvey asks immediately, anger bubbling under his skin.

"No, no I got out of there before it got to that point."

Harvey feels a small flash of relief, but his fingers are still gripping the edge of the counter, if only so he doesn't fly out the door and hunt this bastard down.

"I guess I'm just a bit ... I don't know. Rattled, I guess. Nothing happened, not really, but ... nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I thought I was a good judge of character, you know? We had our initial meeting, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, he seemed perfectly nice. I've rejected potential clients before because I got bad vibes from them but with this guy, there was nothing. And then he..." Mike shakes his head, takes another sip of his drink. "I didn't have anywhere to go," he admits softly. "I just didn't want to be alone right now."

"You don't have any friends? Family?"

Mike shakes his head, looking down at the bare counter top. Harvey has never asked Mike before why he got into this line of work (sure, he knows what inspired the idea, but it always seemed like too personal of a job to do just because he read a medical journal one time) and now Harvey thinks he understands the whole thing a little bit better.

"I'm sorry," Mike says, running a hand through his hair. "I know this is inappropriate, I should go."

"No, Mike," Harvey says, quickly sidestepping so he's blocking Mike's exit. "Stay, I want you to." Mike doesn't look sure, so Harvey heads over to the lounge, leaving the path to the front door clear but hoping Mike will follow when he says, "Come on, let's watch something. I'm kinda feeling Bourne at the moment, what do you think?"

Harvey looks back to see Mike is still standing in the same spot, but he's turned to face Harvey, his back to the direction of the door. "Depends," Mike says, taking a small step forward. "Will you kick me out if I tell you that I actually prefer the Liman movie to the Greengrass ones?"

"Heathen," Harvey says, but he's grinning around the word, and the returning smile he gets from Mike feels like the world.

Harvey cues up The Bourne Identity and they watch it from opposite ends of the couch. They don't touch once the whole time, not even when Harvey orders them pizza for dinner (he gets cheese in the crust for Mike) and they eat it right there on the couch. This isn't a session, this isn't about Harvey - it's about Mike, and though Harvey would offer him any kind of comfort he wants Mike is sitting in the corner of the couch curled up into a ball so Harvey thinks the best thing he can do is leave Mike be.

Harvey tries a few times to engage Mike in conversation throughout the movie, but doesn't get much of a reply, Mike answering Harvey's questions but not elaborating, so Harvey gives up. If he thought it would help Harvey would probably push the point, but Mike is looking better now than he did when he arrived - he has more color in his face and his breathing is coming out in even and rhythmic breaths - so he doesn't push.

When the movie is over Harvey looks over to see Mike is still staring at the screen. He wonders if Mike is worried about being kicked out, of being alone again, so he asks Mike, "Did you want to stay? I have a guest room, or the couch is pretty comfortable if you prefer."

"You don't have to-"

"I know, but I want to. Stay, Mike. If you want."

So he does. They watch another movie and afterwards Harvey digs out some clothes for Mike to sleep in - an old Harvard tee and some plain pajama pants which he hopes will fit - along with a new toothbrush and a towel, leaving everything in a pile on the bed in the guest room.

"Here you go," Harvey says, after dropping the accoutrements next to where Mike is sitting on the foot of the bed. "You know where the bathroom is. I'll probably be up before you in the morning but if I'm not help yourself to anything you want in the kitchen. Oh, and the door locks if you want. So, yeah, I think that's everything. Goodnight."

Harvey turns to leave, but is stopped by Mike saying his name. Harvey turns to face him.

"Why do I need to know that the door locks?"

Harvey shrugs. "Just in case."

"I'm not afraid of you," Mike says, completely certain but with a hint of disbelief that Harvey thought he ever could be.

"I know. But you've had a rough day. I just want you to be safe and happy and do whatever it is you need to do to feel that way."

Mike stands from the bed, closing the gap between them and throwing his arms around Harvey. "Thank you," he whispers into Harvey's ear, and Harvey grins in reply.

"Any time." Harvey steps away, squeezing Mike's hand before saying goodnight and closing the door behind him.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Harvey is indeed up before Mike, but not by much. Mike comes padding into the kitchen, eyes half closed still, and Harvey just grins indulgently at him, pouring him a mug of coffee and putting it in front of Mike when he takes a seat at the counter.

"Good morning. How did you sleep?"

Mike takes a sip of his coffee, becoming brighter before Harvey's eyes. "That bed is amazing."

Harvey chuckles. "Glad you enjoyed it."

"Enjoyed it? It was more than that. It was like a spiritual connection, Harvey. I'm really not sure that bed and I can be parted now."

Now this is the Mike he knows. Harvey is glad to see him starting to come back to himself, and as they eat breakfast there in the kitchen, chatting amiably, Harvey feels a weight lift from his shoulders. Mike will be okay.

"So, did I miss the memo about your apartment being black tie or something?" Mike asks, waving a hand in Harvey's general direction.

Harvey looks down at himself and understands. "Well, if it was, even I would be underdressed, because black tie would call for a tuxedo."

"Let me guess, you also have a tuxedo."

"I have two," Harvey says, grinning at Mike's stunned face. "But this perfectly ordinary suit is because I have a meeting this morning."

"On a Sunday?" Mike asks incredulously.

"No rest for the wicked. Speaking of..." Harvey checks his watch. "I should get going."

"Okay," Mike says, putting down his half eaten piece of toast. "Just give me a second-"

"Mike, I'm not kicking you out. You can stay as long as you want."

Mike just looks at him for a moment, an expression Harvey has never seen before coloring his face, and it makes Harvey nervous and yet he can't look away. "Are you sure?" Mike asks, the words drawn out slow, like they are in some way profoundly significant.

Harvey nods, suddenly desperate to leave the room and this new tension enveloping it, because if he stays here any longer he'll do something incredibly stupid. He shucks on his suit jacket, puts some papers into his briefcase, does everything he can to keep himself occupied so he doesn't look at Mike, doesn't meet the gaze that Harvey can feel heavy on him as he moves around.

Finally he snaps shut his briefcase and looks up at Mike. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like, but I could be out for the better part of the day, so if you leave before I get home just lock the door behind you."

Mike nods. "Thanks, Harvey."

Harvey gives him a brief smile before turning and heading out. He doesn't get too far though, only managing a few steps before Mike calls his name. Harvey turns back to look at him.

"Are we still on for Tuesday?" Mike asks, something like hope lacing the words.

Harvey grins. "We're still on for Tuesday."

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Harvey's relieved to see Mike has returned to his old self. He arrives on Harvey's doorstep with steaming food in his hands, gives Harvey a long hug, and they eat at the table while talking animatedly the whole time. Harvey isn't fool enough to think that Mike is one hundred per cent okay, and that even though nothing actually happened that doesn't mean that Mike can't feel a small degree of trauma about the whole thing which could rear its ugly head at any given moment. But for now, Mike seems okay. He seems happy.

After they finish Mike takes their dishes to the kitchen and asks Harvey, "So are we continuing with the Bourne movies tonight?"

"Actually..." Harvey, who is standing by the dining table as Mike moves around his kitchen, grips the back of his chair nervously, "I'm kinda beat. Would you mind if we just..." He tips his head in the direction of his bedroom before looking at Mike nervously.

There's a beat, a moment of hesitation that feels heavy between them, before Mike swallows thickly and says, "Yeah, of course, whatever you want."

So when Mike finishes rinsing the bowls they make their way to Harvey's bedroom, Mike trailing a few steps behind him. Harvey collapses easily onto the bed, lying on his back, as Mike stands at the foot of the bed and takes off his shoes. If Harvey didn't know any better he'd say that Mike looks nervous as he crawls along the bed, but that's ridiculous, because this is his job, what's there to be nervous about? As soon as Mike's shifting down onto the bed Harvey grabs his hand and turns over so Mike is spooned behind him. There are a few moments of shifting to get comfortable, and they end up with their legs tangled together and fingers entwined, hands pressed to Harvey's chest and Mike's breath tickling the back of Harvey's neck.

"Are you okay?" Mike asks softly with what sounds like genuine concern.

Harvey gets why he's asking. They've not done this before, not really. And yet, it staggers Harvey's mind that with everything Mike went through this week he's still so concerned for Harvey.

"I'm okay," Harvey tells him, and it's the truth.

"Do you wanna talk or just lie here?"

The latter is tempting, but probably too dangerous, so Harvey says, "Talk. Tell me a story."

"A story?" Mike asks, amused. "Like a bedtime story?"

"Don't mock me," he says, smiling. "Tell me a story, tell me a secret, just, talk to me."

If he's honest he's hoping Mike will tell him something personal, that he'll take the opening Harvey has given and go with it. But even if he doesn't, he'll be happy just to listen to Mike's voice.

There are a few beats of silence, Harvey staring out his dark windows, waiting for Mike to speak.

"I have an eidetic memory," Mike says at last, low, like a confession.

Harvey lets the sink in for a moment. "Suddenly everything makes much more sense."

Mike chuckles lightly. "I've never told anyone that. I mean, I'm sure people have worked it out for themselves before but I've never actually said the words out loud to someone."

"Why not?"

"When I was a kid I consumed every piece of knowledge that I came across, and I thought that was how everyone was. But as I got older I started to realize that that wasn't the case. I didn't know why, didn't know that my brain worked differently to everyone else's, I just knew that I was different. I didn't _want_ to be different. So I did stupid shit, like purposefully failing tests in class, because I wanted to be like everyone else."

"Did it help?"

"Not really. I didn't want to stand out, I didn't want to be different. But I was. Didn't matter how I tried to change or compensate, I still stood out and I was still different. It's taken me a long time but I've finally learned to embrace it."

Harvey doesn't say anything after that, just rubs the pad of his forefinger along Mike's palm.

"Okay, your turn," Mike says after a few minutes of silence.

"My turn?"

"Tell me a secret, something you've never told anyone."

Harvey thinks about it for a moment. There are hundreds of things he's never told anyone, and the scary thing is that he would be okay with telling Mike almost all of them. He closes his eyes for a moment, takes a deep breath as the realization settles over him. Then he picks one at random and starts talking.

"My parents got divorced because of me. I wasn't the _reason_ , I was the catalyst. My mother was cheating on my dad, I told him, they split up. I don't regret it. He deserved better. I haven't seen her since and I don't miss her."

"Wow."

"That's not my secret though," Harvey adds softly.

"So what is?"

"My secret is ... I love my life, you know. I love my job, I have some great people in my life, I never wanna move out of this apartment. But sometimes I can't help but wonder how different I'd be if my mother wasn't the way she was. What happened with my parents, it changed me, irrevocably, and sometimes I hate her for that because I think I'd probably be better adjusted and have less relationship issues if that didn't happen. Maybe I'd be a better person."

Mike just makes a thoughtful noise but doesn't elaborate. Harvey wonders if he's said too much, gone too far, but then Mike says softly, "For the record, I like you just the way you are."

There doesn't really seem to be much to say after that. They lapse into silence, but it's not uncomfortable. Harvey has no idea how long they lie there together, the city flying by around them as they lie there tangled up in a quiet so profound that Harvey swears he can hear his own heart beating. He feels like he could happily drift off to sleep like this, but he doesn't want to, doesn’t want to fall asleep wrapped up with Mike only to wake alone.

Harvey turns over so they are facing each other. Mike's eyes are closed, he looks utterly relaxed, and when Harvey finally stops shifting and lies comfortably Mike settles the arm that had been over Harvey's side so his hand is resting on Harvey's neck, thumb rubbing lightly over his jaw.

And then Mike stills, eyes flying open, looking almost scared. He tries to pull away but before he can Harvey wraps a hand lightly around his wrist, keeping him still.

They don't speak. Harvey just stares at Mike, lying so close to him, his heart pounding in his chest because he knows exactly what is about to happen. This could ruin everything, but right now, Harvey can't find it in him to care. Because he wants this more than anything, there's no way he can live another moment longer without moving forward and pressing his lips to Mike's. So he does. It's barely a kiss, more a declaration, and Mike presses back for a few moments before he pulls away, letting out a shaky breath.

"I wanna quit," Mike whispers.

Harvey grins. "Good, because I wanna fire you."

Mike's grin is blindingly beautiful but Harvey only sees it for a moment before they kiss again, deeper this time, like they never want it to end.

**Author's Note:**

> my [tumblr](http://tattooedsiren.tumblr.com/) if you wanna come talk to me. :O)


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